


Every Day I'm Shuffling

by SCP682_HardtoDestroyReptile



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCP682_HardtoDestroyReptile/pseuds/SCP682_HardtoDestroyReptile
Summary: After Death left the wizards and went back to the party he was bored.  He needed to find some way to liven it up - so to speak.  He decided to experience the party in his own way, by bending the rules as always. I don't own anything from the Discword series, nor will I make any money off this story.
Relationships: None
Kudos: 1





	Every Day I'm Shuffling

After the wizards sent him back to the party DEATH made a few calculations. Midnight was about 30 minutes away, and he only had until then before the masks were removed. He loved a good masquerade, and this one had cheese on a stick. Cheese on a stick was definitely one of humanity’s finer inventions. He held his, wishing he had some way to eat it.

DEATH watched the people around him. He was on the lost continent, attending a party given by a prince in the face of…well, DEATH. All around the castle the red plague raged, but the prince had counted on shutting himself away from the commoners and eating his stored provisions until the plague worked itself out. 

THEY ALWAYS THINK THEY’LL ESCAPE, DEATH said.

“What?” one of the wenches asked. Her dress had been carefully tailored to show her bosoms to the fullest extent, but DEATH was more attuned to the flush on her cheeks that marked someone fighting a fever.

IT NEVER OCCURS TO ANYONE THAT THEY ALL DIE NO MATTER NO HARD THEY TRY TO LIVE.

The wench looked uncomfortable. “Everyone knows, sir. We’re not supposed to talk about it now. The prince will be very angry.”

AH YES, THE PRINCE, DEATH said. There were times he enjoyed reaping, and this was one of them. He was beginning to have Definite Ideas about humanity, and this prince was one of the types he’d decided he disliked.

“It is a nice party sir,” she said. “Cheese on a stick?”

THANK YOU. I THINK I WILL, DEATH said, choosing a morsel. He held it and twirled the bit in his fingers. He had left those horrible wizards for this, and it was winding down. The dancing was half-hearted, and the people looked worried. 

The prince laughed loudly, but it had the sound of hysteria to it. “Come on people! This is a party. Enjoy yourselves!”

The nobles attempted to look livelier, but DEATH could tell they weren’t really into it. The little wench was still near him. She was looking at him intently. DEATH knew she wasn’t exactly seeing him as he was. People couldn’t quite focus on him.

I THINK THIS PARTY NEEDS LIVENING UP, DEATH said.

“The prince would be happy with that,” she said. 

I’VE NEVER DANCED, DEATH said. I’D LIKE TO TRY. NOW IS AS GOOD A TIME AS EVER, AS THEY SAY.

“Certainly sir.”

The music was horrible –chamber music with no soul, no life to it. And DEATH was here to experience life – inasmuch as he was able. He wanted to know the reason humans did things, and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t learn much here.

15 MINUTES, he said.

“15 minutes till what sir?” the wench asked.

15 MINUTES UNTIL EVERYTHING ENDS, DEATH said.

“Yes sir. Please excuse me sir.” She scuttled away, and DEATH resumed searching his own mind. He found what he was looking for, a music that hadn’t come to life yet, but one that would be the essence of dance itself.

THEY ARE GOING TO PULL MY MASK OFF AT 12 ANYWAY, he said. I MIGHT AS WELL TRY TO HAVE “FUN” IT WILL BE A NEW SENSATION.

He waited until the clock struck 12. Everyone in the room looked around nervously, aware in some animal sense that there was danger. At the last stroke of the clock DEATH leapt into the middle of the dance floor, disguise dropped and skeletal form in a robe obvious to everyone in the room. They screamed and pressed against the walls, but DEATH wasn’t paying attention to them. He danced wildly to a techno beat only he could hear, jumping up and down and performing what future generations would call a shuffle.

EVERY DAY I AM SHUFFLING, he said, but he got no response other than horrified glances. OH WELL, EVERYONE’S A CRITIC, he said as he pulled his scythe. TIME TO GET BACK TO WORK.


End file.
